The Woman
by Goth-Punk88
Summary: Naomi Misora was to L like Irene Adler to Sherlock Holmes. To Sherlock Holmes she is always The woman. [LNaomi][Watari's POV]


Yes, you've heard right. This is an LxNaomi tribute. This time is from Wammy/Watari's point, and it's a short drabble based on the following quote that someone pointed out in the LxNaomi community over at Livejournal [if you like the pairing, don't hesitate in joining! The quote is the following:

Naomi Misora to L is like **Irene Adler to Sherlock Holmes**

_"To Sherlock Holmes she is always __**the**__ woman."_

And so here I'm. The drabble isn't beta-read though, so expect some mistakes because as some of you already know, English isn't my first language. Still if you could please point out the mistakes in a review, I'll gladly fix them.

That said, I hope you enjoy. And there are more drabbles and oneshots for this pairing from where this one came from :

**Title: _The Woman. _**

**Author: _Goth-Punk88 _**

**Series: Death Note. **

**Characters: L Lawliet, Quillish Wammy, Misora Naomi. **

**Warnings: Spoilers from the anime/manga, as well as some mentions of the Novel Another Note. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. **

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To Wammy, L was like his own son.

He never had one, his wife being unable to conceive, and at last dying after a short period of sickness. It may have been that—the fact that he always yearned so badly for a son—along with the fact that he was now left alone, which prompted him to use part of the money he had to create an orphanage.

He always loved kids; their bright smiles, their cheerful laughs, their simple minds. He always loved them; and being surrounded by them, feeling like he was able of being some kind of help to them made him feel almost complete.

_Almost_. Because there was still an empty space that couldn't be fulfilled, no matter how hard he tried.

He had always wanted a son of his own; one child to have his own blood, to have his last-name and resemble him somewhat. To have his smile, his eyes. The empty space in his heart that should be occupied by his own son's smiling face would never be fulfilled. And that was something he would have to learn how to live with.

And that's when he met him.

There was something, _something_ when he met his big, dark eyes. Something when his pale face raised up and stared at his; something when his lips parted slightly but didn't say a single word—_Something_ that told him that this boy was different. That _they_ would be different. Something that linked him to him with an inexplicable invisible bond; and for the first time in his life, Wammy felt the ache in his heart subsiding.

He wasn't entirely surprised when their encounter changed his life. Some part of him had already expected it; some part of him had already known that there was more to that kid than what meet the eye. That he was special. He decided to do some changes to his orphanage after that, and build a special one.

The new orphanage was made for children like him, children like L. With special abilities and high IQ's; children that could solve the most complex crossword puzzles at the mere age of 5. Children whose mental abilities were impressive beyond their years.

Children that could surpass him. That could be his replace if something happened.

He didn't quite know when he started to feel the way he did; when he started to think of him the way he did. But somewhere along the road, along the years they spend together while he watched him grow and become a young man, the emptiness in his heart started to be fulfilled.

And it was a wonderful feeling, the one which made that made him swell with proud whenever L solved a seemingly impossible case; or the one who made his heart ache with deep fondness and affection whenever the boy looked remotely happy while eating his sweets.

Somewhere along the road, he started to think of L as his own child. As the son he always wanted but never could have; the son he yearned for so badly for so many years. L had become him, and had finally occupied that empty place inside his heart; had finally completed _him_.

He guesses that _that_ was the reason of why it made him feel an eerie ache in his chest whenever he saw him like that; staring quietly through the window, face blank and devoid of any emotion, his sweets forgotten in a table behind him. Wammy guesses that that's the reason of why it hurt whenever he stared at his eyes.

Because L's eyes were a wonderful thing, indeed. They were the windows to his soul, never hiding his emotions, always expressing the deepest of his thoughts—unless he decided to hide them, of course. But even if he tried, Wammy knew him a little too well, and details such as his emotions would never pass unnoticed through his experienced eyes.

And since he was a child, his eyes had always been the same. They started to show more emotion though, started to feel fuller when he started solving cases and became The L. The pride that would shine in them whenever he outsmarted someone, the tingle of happiness and delight whenever he ate his favorite cake, the tranquil quietness of an afternoon besides the fireplace. But no matter how hard he tried, Wammy could never ignore the almost imperceptible emptiness that shone in his eyes.

And it kept shining, and shining, remaining untouched and unexplored in the depths of L's soul and psyche, remaining there with no intentions of leaving no matter how many days and years passed.

And it remained there until he met her.

With the utmost of attentions and surprise, Wammy observed how that emptiness started to loose its dull brightness with each passing day of brief calls and e-mails. He quietly observed how the eyes of who he considered to be his own son started to acquire an entirely different shine, started to become more alive than he had ever seen them.

And he stared, observing without interrupting, and noticing amusedly how the barest traces of a smile would curve-up the corners of L's lips whenever he finished talking with her. How his eyes would shine with something akin to admiration and pride whenever she told him a new clue, whenever she noticed something particularly hard to see.

Wammy observed it all, enjoying and taking in the image of an L who was, for the first time in his life, experiencing the most beautiful of emotions. Of an L who probably didn't even want to realize what was happening, and lived in the most blissful of unawareness. But at the same time, Wammy feared.

Wammy feared because he knew that all good things had to come to an end; and he knew that no matter how hard a case seemed to be, it would eventually be solved. He feared because when that happened the woman would go on with her life, and the emptiness would once again return to L's eyes.

He wasn't wrong.

He wasn't surprised when L asked him to drive him to the subway station close to the FBI quarters. He wasn't surprised when he told him to park there and wait for him; he already knew what he would do. He had watched him study her schedule for far too long to not know just what L had in mind. He didn't try to stop him, either. L's life had never been normal, and it probably never would be; he had the right to experience that feeling for as long as he could, to grasp it and memorize it and held it close to his heart, because that kind of feelings only came once in a life, and Wammy wanted L to be truly happy, at least for a few moments.

So it didn't surprise him when he saw L return, an odd kind of jolt in his steps, an odd kind of smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt when he saw it all disappearing and being replaced with dull knowledge. L had already known what would happen, and he would bear with it; he would bear with it because there was no other way to do things.

Day after day Wammy silently observed how the dullness returned to L's eyes, and how the emptiness grew and grew, becoming greater with each passing day. Because things were worse now; it always hurt more when the emptiness remainded you of what you could never have.

But Wammy never said a word, never mentioned anything to L. L never mentioned anything about the subject, either. And Wammy understood, and respected it.

That shine of fulfillment never quite returned to L's eyes; he met new people, became involved in harder cases, finally acquired a friend—but that shine that his eyes had had during those months he worked alongside her in that case never met his eyes again.

And as Wammy watched him stare intently through the window and out the sky, a single piece of paper held between his long-bony fingers, Wammy knew.

Misora Naomi had been _the_ woman in L's life. And _that_, was a place, that no one would _ever_ be able to take away from her.

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The paper L is holding at the end, is Naomi's profile. There he already knows about her death.

Reviews are always welcomed, as long as they aren't flames about the pairing.

Thanks for reading!


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